


The Triple G's

by ElfyDwarf



Series: Gallavich Prompts & One Shots [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Biting, Explicit Language, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfyDwarf/pseuds/ElfyDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Mickey's going to wear short-short's while threatening to tone up those bouncing buns of his, then Ian is going to argue his case.</p><p>- Do not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Triple G's

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly thing entirely, and I have no... just. Yeah. That ass. 
> 
> Ian worships Mickey's ass for a laugh and it turns serious. What can i say? I needed to write something smutty and there's not enough one-shot smuts going up anymore... just a little something while i catch up on my big bang because it's priority at the moment and then Ice, of course. ENJOY!

 

Tired and achy from his shift at work, Ian pushed against the front door to the Milkovich house, ramming it with his shoulder when it stuck and very nearly fell into the house, hanging off the door handle with his feet spread in shock. Well, that gave way a little easier than it had yesterday. Maybe Mickey had finally oiled the hinge? Ian wasn't about to question it too much because, as he hauled himself upright and looked into the _now-tidy-thanks-to-his-high_ house, his sore eyes were granted the most heart stopping, glorious sight they had yet to witness in his young life. Mickey. In short-shorts. His partner was leaning on the kitchen counter with his back end stuck out, his chin propped in one hand while the other hand idly skimmed fingers across what looked like his iPhone lay on the surface. Ian could only see a part of his face as he was leaning to the side a bit, his weight more on his left leg than his right, hip cocked to support him, because his back was mostly facing towards the door. He hadn't heard Ian come in, or the door bang open, or when Ian had shut it, as his earphones were stuffed in and he was humming along, reading something or whatever, Ian didn't know, but he _did know_ that he was thanking every fucking star in the universe right now for being granted an early shift departure. Never would he have _ever_ thought he'd see Mickey in a pair of black and white short-shorts, sports socks half up his calves paired with running shoes, a black tank and fucking _sweat bands_ on his wrists. _Ever_. Where the hell did he even hide this stuff?

Too stunned by the visual glory that was Mickey's round backside on display, taut thighs, Ian couldn't even form a snort at how utterly strange this all was – had he forced himself into an alternate dimension when he'd shoved the door too hard? Like he gave a shit right now, because _damn_. Mickey was as pale as the moon's waxy light, smooth and toned and it was a rare thing for him to wear anything as revealing unless it was high summer and he was melting in his jeans, so Ian slowly moved closer to he didn't catch Mickey's unknowing attention. Fuck, what a sight he was, absent minded and in his own world, calm and relaxed with his rump _right there_. In the bedroom, whole other ball game, because that was a closed door, Mickey's temple, keep the fuck out. But here, in the house, rarely did he break habit and wander around in anything that didn't reach his knees... and here he was, standing in the kitchen in that get up when it wasn't even roasting hot outside, barely a care to him, and it begged a fucking lot of questions that Ian wasn't going to ask for that would have Mickey knowing he was there and he would get flustered and hide and it would never happen again. That wasn't something Ian was going to bargain with because who liked short-shorts? Ian.

“You think I don't know you're there,” Mickey muttered and Ian jumped, hand on his chest. Mickey snorted and glanced at him, not moving at all really, just quirking an eyebrow, curling one side of his pretty, and yet smashed into his palm, mouth. He sighed and lifted his earphones, showing Ian that the end wasn't plugged in at all and the fucker was doing this on purpose.

“Jesus, Mick,” Ian breathed, shaking his head fondly, “Thought I'd walked in on something private 'cause what, why and how?”

As Ian placed his bag on the table, Mickey twisted enough to lean on his elbow to face Ian a little more, but that was it. The backside stayed shoved out in those mini shorts of illegal standing. “Not private, just, well, I do shit in the day that you don't see 'cause you're workin'. What – exercising. Why – because I need to keep this temple in shape, that's fuckin' why. My ass needs toning up, it jiggles when I walk for fuck sake. How – I bought it from a store, how else? Then I put it on and move around, using this guide I got on my phone. S'good shit, been usin' it for my legs for a while and now, the ass.”

Ian felt sick, his mouth dropping open, “ _No_. Not your ass Mickey, no. It's perfect!”

“Not up to you, it's _my_ ass. Fuck, Ian, it wobbles like fuckin' jello!” Mickey's eyebrows shot up to emphasize his point, shaking his lower back just enough and yeah, it set his ass a-boucing. Ian couldn't argue that it moved like jello at all, which was fucking wonderful to look at, but it wasn't actual jello, it didn't have dips or dimples where it shouldn't, it was firm and yet soft and shapely and yeah, like jello, he could always eat some.

“Mick, it's perfect,” Ian assured, stepping closer. “Please don't make it leave me. I love that you've got a good physique and you're barrel chested and stocky and _ooff_ strong as fuck but, your butt? It's the icing on the Mickey cake. No, the cherry on the top. It's just... I wanna grab it _all the time_! Don't send it away, Mick, I adore your ass, Jesus, I fuckin' do.”

Ian's pleading had him close to Mickey now, looking down at him where he had stayed leaning. “S'just fat, Ian,” Mickey pushed but Ian was having none of it. He took a hold of Mickey's arm and turned him so he was fully facing the counter, ass right out, and held him there as he stood behind, holding onto Mickey's hips.

“It's toned skin and muscle and fat, yeah, but it's you and please, please Mick, it's a thing of beauty,” Ian was feeling overly passionate about this, he was tired yes, but looking down at the swell of where ass met lower back, the tank having ridden up a bit to reveal Mickey's back dimples and the valley of his spine, his frustrated need to fucking _grab_ the rounded greatness that was Mickey's backside was driving him a little up the wall. He hissed through his teeth, curses about how glorious it was, how he loved it, wanted it, _don't you get it Mick_? Still, Mickey grumbled that it wasn't up to Ian, so, Ian dropped to his knees and buried his face in the material covering Mickey's right cheek, moaning like he usually did when he face planted in his pillows. “ _God_ , so soft and yet not. Memory foamed ass, I swear. Mmmpphh _so good_ , so gorgeous, so wonderful, never known anythin' like it Mick.”

“Christ,” Mickey chuckled from above, Ian's muffled voice so heavy with passionate assurances, ground out through teeth, lips moving hard against his skin through the shorts, “Swear you love my ass more than me.”

“Your ass _is_ you, so don't start,” Ian muffled, scraping his teeth, making animal noises as he tried to bite a little through the shorts. Mickey jumped when Ian pulled his face back to plant both hands on the globes of his backside, hard and sure and then pawing, kneading, squishing while Ian himself groaned deep and low in his throat.

“Havin' fun back there? S'not fuckin' play-dough,” Mickey snorted, shaking a bit with the force of Ian's jiggling hands. He was _thoroughly_ enjoying himself, watching the flesh wobble under his palms, the indents of his fingers bunching up the material. He pushed his hands up and with them went the shorts, exposing the lower half of Mickey's ass to his eyes and he vaguely wondered if Mickey would be open to the idea of French knickers because fuck, they'd look perfect. He'd look perfect.

“Damn,” Ian sighed out, groaning the end of the word for longer than really necessary, “Would you look at that.”

Mickey tipped his head to the sky and sniffed, “ _If_ I could look, all I'd see is a fat ass with a wedgie.” He clenched his teeth and groaned, sounding it out into a stretched-throat laugh when he got a firm smack on his right cheek, “Truth not somethin' you like hearin', huh?” another smack, a little lighter, followed by some nipping teeth right where cheek turned into thigh, some growling swears that cut off in favour of desperate whimpers.

“I was _trying_ to teach you a lesson; don't self loathe around me, fucker... but then I nibbled and fuhh-” Ian's whine shaped into a deep moan as he lost a little control and nuzzled Mickey's cheek again, breathing hotly through the fabric. “Mmmhh I _can't_ , Mickey, seriously, oh my _God_ ,” he moaned, the sound wasn't him losing his shit either, but arousal rearing up quickly and Mickey shivered, dropping his head to hang, closing his eyes. Ian was burning up, teething the shorts like a dog on a bone, his fingers digging in and then pawing and pulling, pushing the flesh up and down.

“Jesus, ain't playin' now are you?” Mickey whispered mostly to himself, heated and heavy, though Ian heard him over his own pleased and praising noises, affirming it with a grunt of _no_. Ian's fingers dropped quickly, raking down the outside of Mickey's thighs to the bands of his socks and back up, scratching hot lines up to and then under the shorts to Mickey's hipbones.

“You're not wearin' _anything_ under these?!” Ian asked with surprise and upon lifting the material to look for himself to make sure there wasn't a jockstrap or thong under there, he lost it and started sounding like a toddler being denied something, shifting from his crouch to his knees, scratching and licking at Mickey's crease lines and thighs while Mickey chuckled a bit to himself, hissing when hard suction started on his cheek. His dick had already woken up, had done the second Ian had dropped to his knees, and now it was starting to fill out the front of his shorts.

“We can move this-”

Ian moaned his disagreement, detaching his sucking mouth from Mickey's ass cheek to hiss, “I'm fuckin' busy here, _don't_ you dare!” to only pick up the licking and biting like he was going to stop breathing any second and never get to do it ever again.

“Just...fuck, just, what are your plans with my ah-ass?” Mickey sucked in his bottom lip and pushed a heavy breath from his nose as Ian spread his ass and dragged his teeth from inner thigh to where the shorts disallowed him to go any further. Mickey shifted slightly and Ian bit him, just sinking his teeth in in warning.

“I'm gonna eat it, thought that was obvious? Worship requires sacrifice so,” Ian rocked back and swore at having to do so, standing slowly, dangerously even as his breath ghosted Mickey's neck to his ear, Ian leaning right over him with itchy fingers on his waistband, “Time to lose the fuckin' short-shorts.”

“Thank God,” Mickey gasped deeply, standing as much as he could with Ian's chest holding him in a forward tip, so, deciding to wind him up a little more, Mickey braced his weight by pressing his belly into the counter and pushed his backside out, flush against Ian's crotch. “You're gonna have to move if you want these off,” Mickey said lowly and Ian groaned, his hands covering Mickey's where he'd hooked his thumbs into the front of his waistband, pushing them down hard to get the shorts off regardless of how tight they were pressed together. The rough front of Ian's jeans was soon chafing at Mickey's bare skin as Ian rolled his hips with a desperate noise, moving back once he'd sucked on Mickey's nape and licked his way down his spine, stopping only to re-moisten his tongue before trailing it flat and wet along the dimples of his pelvis.

“Fuck, _Jesus_ , Mick,” Ian moaned, teething the skin as his hands got to grabbing and pushing Mickey's ass up to push the skin into a bulge where back moulded into rump. He licked and kissed and bit feverishly, pawing and squeezing and tapping with his long fingers. “Did you exercise? Get sweaty?”

“No, the fuck you aski- _oh_ Juh, fuck, shit!” Mickey choked, tipping onto his toes and gripping the edge of the counter like a life line as that hot, wet tongue licked a fat stripe over his asshole, over and over, lips kissing and teeth biting the cheeks either side. Ian was going blind with want, trying to devour what he could, tasting and inhaling Mickey, grunting when a hand reached back and sunk into his hair and fisted the strands tight enough to sting. It only spurred Ian on in his quest to eat Mickey's backside, bringing his hands in closer while spreading the firm flesh apart and using his index fingers to prize the tight ring open, licking and sucking kisses over it until Mickey moaned long and deep, his entire body sagging a touch.  
  
“That's it, Mick, let me in,” Ian breathed, barely breaking contact as he watched his fingertips sink in. He pulled and shoved his tongue in, moaning deliriously at the heat and taste and Mickey swore, hissing curses against the counter where he lay his head, cheek pressed firmly against the cool top, stark in contrast to his burning skin.

Ian soon gave up spearing Mickey open with his tongue, instead he disappeared entirely with no warning, banging his way through the house in a riot, searching out the bedroom. Mickey was left trying to breathe better, his legs shaking and spread still when Ian came crashing through, knocking something to the floor with no care. He banged his hand on the counter, leaving a lube coated foil packet there and then he was back on his knees, lube between them and open as he'd been coating his fingers when he'd come through the house like a bull.

“Holy fuck, ahhh,” Mickey inhaled through his teeth, lubed and slippery fingers working their way inside his body with practised ease while Ian mouthed at his ass cheeks again, biting and sucking on them, leaving stinging spots.

“Play with your dick,” Ian muttered around a mouthful of backside, scissoring his fingers in and out, rolling his wrist. His own cock was still trapped in his jeans and yet, he made no move to free it and give up some pressure. Mickey was he all was concerned about, moaning and whining and grunting against the kitchen side.

“N-no.”

Ian stopped for a second, pulling his mouth away in confusion and then it was back and Mickey could feel his smile curling against the abused, wet side of his ass cheek. Ian buried his face again, nuzzling and humming while he slowly started fingering Mickey again, carefully moving the pads of his fingers around, tapping on purpose. He knew exactly where Mickey's prostate was and he avoided it on purpose, touching lightly, then rapidly tapping against his walls, stroking, pumping his wrist every now and then while he got back to worshipping skin with his mouth. He knew what Mickey was getting at. He wasn't being defiant – he wanted to come untouched and Ian was more than on board with that.

“You're so fucking perfect, Mickey. I don't want anyone else, ever,” Ian whisper-kissed along the base of his lovers back, grinning as he pushed his pads against Mickey's prostate, making him jolt and moan like he was in pain. He _so wasn't_ because, in case he was, Ian always moved so he could see his face, or part of it, and while sound poured from Mickey, Ian could just see his face scrunched in a blissed out smile, his teeth pearly behind pulled blood flushed lips. Fuck he wanted to kiss him. Ian upped his pegging, jabbing steadily against Mickey's G spot while kissing all over his back and shoulders, moving to crowd against him again. He sunk his fingers in deep and held still, lightly stroking his fingertips over and over, swirling them as much as he could, never letting up on the touch and driving Mickey crazy where he pinned him chest-to-back.

“Ah, God,” Mickey was panting heavily, rolling his forehead back and forth, his fingers curling against the work top for purchase. Ian grinned as he moaned and swore, latching his mouth to the side of Mickey's neck, humming and nosing at his ear and jaw hinge as he applied more pressure. “Fuck, can't-” Mickey choked, bucking a little and Ian stopped pressing, stopped all movement of his hand. His brought his other up and pulled his chest away, running the free hand over Mickey's neck and up into his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly to give him another sensation to focus on for a moment.

“You're doing so good, Mick, but I can stop if you need me to. Just say the word.”

Mickey groaned and shook his head, “No. Just... fuckin' Christ. Hmm!” Mickey's mouth wasn't cooperating with his brain at all. Ian set to kissing all over his shoulders again, teeth scraping the backs of his arms, nipping at the junction of shoulder and neck, licking the sting away and then Mickey shifted, his tell-tale that Ian could carry on. “ _Holy fuck_.”

“Breathe,” Ian hushed against his ear and Mickey snapped his head up, turning as much as he could with a giant redhead flat against him, eyeing him with inked out eyes and pink tinted cheeks. Ian smiled and Mickey opened his mouth, licking his lip as a groan bubbled out, watching Ian watching him softly considering what his fingers were doing. They weren't soft _at all_.

“Harder. I need you to go harder, Ian, please,” Mickey rushed, swearing blind when Ian complied and moved back to concentrate on what he was doing, running his free hand up and down Mickey's back to soothe him while he finger fucked him hard, jostling Mickey with the force of them. “Fuh- so close, it's right there, fuck!” Mickey felt his eyes water and his skin itch everywhere, and yet the line just couldn't be crossed. He whimpered and bit his lip hard enough that he felt the skin crunch, threatening to break if he kept it up. His cock ached, bobbing and dripping and so heavy. Ian kept going, only slowing for a second to free himself from the boa constrictor that was his underwear and add a bit more lubrication, pegging Mickey mercilessly the more he begged and cursed.

“You need-”

“Yes! Fuckin waitin' for you to ask! In, now!” Mickey yelled, reaching back to still Ian's hand and pull his fingers free. Ian moved quickly, dropping his jeans and boxers, kicking them across the kitchen floor with hiss as he tore open the condom wrapper and sheathed himself. Mickey moved before he could line up and wrapped his arms around Ian's shoulders, “Wall.”

“Fucking- Yessir!” Ian breathed, walking Mickey backwards while Mickey tore off his tank and Ian's shirt, grunting when his back hit the nearest wall and down he slid, taking Ian with him. “ _On the floor_ against the wall...”

“Bit fuckin' shaky, princess,” Mickey crouched as Ian knelt with him and shifted until his thighs were spread, knees a hair from the wall, his dick standing to attention and looking rather angry. Mickey quickly settled himself in Ian's lap and leant his weight back, the wall cool against his skin, lazily watching as Ian lined himself up and pushed only the head of his cock in, swearing a litany as he did so, eyes rolling while Mickey grinned. “Suffer.” Much as it felt like heaven had smashed him in the groin and sent shock waves everywhere, Mickey kept still.

“Not suffering. Your ass is a fucking dream,” Ian assured heatedly, moving Mickey's legs into crooks of his elbows, locking their gaze for a moment as Mickey's arms wound around his neck and then he lifted, his arms bulging tight. With a slight shift of his knees and Mickey giving a nod, Ian slammed home with a shout and Mickey shattered into pieces, head bouncing off the wall; his ass was so sensitive that he could feel every ridge and vein, the oily skin of the condom, Ian's heat, the stretch unreal as he pulled back and crowded Mickey with his body, pushing back in agonisingly slow. That tease, the overloading sensation made Mickey's skin burn and his eyes spill a little, groaning deeply into Ian's neck while his love pressed his cheek to Mickey's temple, grunts breaking out of him like he was getting kicked by pleasure. He pushed all the way in and held for a second and Mickey could feel his dick twitch with the rapid heartbeat he housed, sinking his teeth into Ian's neck as he pulled out slowly and the feeling had Mickey coming hard with him not even a quarter of the way out, whimpering and losing control of what his mouth was doing; he bit, he licked, he kissed and sucked and ran his tongue over Ian's throat like he was writing his name while his body convulsed as much as it could with Ian's caging it, eyes burning behind tightly screwed eyelids.

“ _Mickey_ ,” Ian moaned, breathing hard and choppy, holding completely still with Mickey crushed against the wall.

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” he was muffled by the skin he refused to stop kissing and Ian sighed. “Keep going. S'OK.”

Ian moved a little and pulled his head back, his face flushed and sheepish, “Came before you did.”

“Lies,” Mickey hissed, cheeky and sated and feeling like a bag of disjointed bones. Ian shook his head and sucked in his lip. “Worked yourself up a little too much, eh?”

“Just... fuck, felt too good, you always feel too fucking good. It was the short-short's and triple G's, Mick,” Ian kissed his neck, pulling back again to eye Mickey's frown. What-

“The fuck?”

Ian tried for serious and failed, narrowing his eyes even though they were bright with tease, “Gleaming Globes of Glory.” Mickey stared and he stared _hard_ , trapped as he was, and when Ian cracked and snorted, dropping his chin down, Mickey thunked his head off the wall and closed his eyes, the softening cock in his ass jumping with Ian's giggles.

“Pull out.”

“But Mick-”

“ _Out_.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ..... i have a penthouse in Hell, see you there for cocktails!


End file.
